The Tears of a Clown
by PhantomMemories
Summary: Puberty had been very kind to Alfred F Jones, but that wasn't the reason why Arthur Kirkland noticed him: The fact that he was the class clown, and currently held the record for number of detentions and failed classes in recent school history was. Of course it's the student council president's job to look after all of the underclassmen, right?
1. Chapter 1

'Dreary days drag,' Arthur alliterated in his head, waiting for yet another installment of the only class he shared with the most disruptive student in the entire history of this particular high school.

At least, Arthur had dubbed him with that particular title, considering how many detentions the boy had already served through his high school career— and still only a sophomore! It wasn't like he hadn't been looking at the records because he was concerned that Jones, Alfred F was about to earn himself a suspension because he couldn't stop 'cutting up' in the remedial math that Arthur had to take before he could graduate and get into university.

Of course he couldn't be interested in the friendly and sunshine-y personality that tended to make classes more interesting with his antics. Nor was Arthur interested in Jones's bright smile, or the way that the younger boy had hit a growth spurt over the summer and added six inches and a bit of muscle to a wiry frame. Puberty had been more than kind to Alfred F Jones.

(Arthur had been pretty sure he was straight, until he saw Alfred Jones walking back into the school— but maybe he was just gay for— no. He wasn't interested. Clamp down on that thought. He's only a sophomore.)

Dull routine was always disrupted, and today was no exception. It almost seemed as though it was going to remain dull, as Alfred's seat was empty at the beginning of class— but that was not unusual. Arthur kept an eye on the clock as the teacher began the lesson, and noted that the door flew open precisely one minute before the tardiness would warrant a detention.

No text, no notebooks, only a charming grin, and a babbled explanation that Arthur didn't hear as he made note of the fact that yet again, Alfred had managed to time himself to avoid that treacherous pink detention slip that would earn him a week's suspension. It was nearly deliberate— and the way he finally made it to a seat where he was given a pencil and a piece of paper by one of the girls sitting in front of him— momentarily, Arthur wondered if Alfred even bothered to take notes.

As though he felt the eyes on him, Alfred glanced in Arthur's direction, briefly meeting his gaze with one that didn't seem quite as happy as the grin on his face would indicate.

It was only a moment, though, and quite swiftly, Arthur snapped to attention and began taking notes on algebraic expressions. Jones could wait. And even if he was sneaking looks over to where Alfred was studiously not taking notes, he would have to wait until after class to talk to him— if indeed he was going to talk to him.

The bell hadn't rung yet, and despite several interruptions during the examples that the teacher wrote on the board, Alfred Jones hadn't really done anything out of turn— and Arthur became more and more suspicious.

Until the wad of paper came out of the vicinity of Alfred's chair, and hit the teacher in the head.

The look of horror on Alfred's face wiped any trace of amusement from Arthur's mind. Everyone else was laughing, except for the one who had presumably thrown the paper projectile.

"Jones," The teacher glanced at the paper he'd scooped up from the floor. "Detention."

"I didn't do it!" Alfred protested, while the giggling continued around him. "Really, I didn't—"

"Your name is on the paper," The teacher's face was locked into an abnormally stern glare. "With your grades, I would think that you'd be wanting to keep every single note that you can."

"I didn't—" Alfred's face was flushed and angry, and embarrassed and— it was such a change from the normal smile and joking that the laughter died quickly. Arthur frowned. Jones might be a clown, and a disruption, but he didn't seem quite _that_ stupid.

"Detention, Jones, go to the office. If you argue any more, there'll be a conference with your parents."

Arthur caught a bare glimpse of Alfred's face as he passed through the class on the way to the door. Unsurprisingly, his face was screwed up into something bordering between anger and tears.

Before Arthur could do anything more than register the glimpse, the bell rang, and the rest of the class burst into chaos.

* * *

After a quick lunch, Arthur was heading for the student council room to try and figure out if there was going to be enough money to buy pom pons for the next pep rally, when he caught a glimpse of Alfred Jones sitting in one of the principal's waiting room chairs with his head hanging low. He was alone, and Arthur was nearly stepping inside the room when the principal's door opened, and someone who looked a whole lot like Alfred (but slightly taller and older) stepped out.

The boy didn't even look up, and Arthur hesitated, stopping by the secretary's desk, pretending to be fascinated by the paperclip container.

"You're damn lucky I wasn't working today, Al," the older version of Alfred had a softer voice. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I didn't do it this time, Mattie, I promise!" Alfred almost sounded like he was going to start wailing, "I didn't—"

"Uncle Bill's going to be pissed— it's bad enough that you're flunking most of your classes, but this? This is going to be the icing on the cake—"

"I'm just dumb, Mattie, I'm sorry, I tried, but I'm dumb." And it did look as though there were tears now. "I'm sorry, don't tell him I got suspended, please, I'll try harder—"

"You're not stupid, Al, you just need to try harder." A sigh from the older, "It's an in-school suspension. For some reason, they think it's a good idea for you to be in the library study room, doing all of your old homework for the next week and a half. You'll also be figuring out how to explain this to your dad— he has to come in and talk with them before they'll let you back in class."

"Just don't tell dad yet." a touch of desperation in the voice, that made Arthur wonder, "Don't tell him, he's going to be so mad—"

"Come on, Al, let's go. They want you out for the rest of the day, your detention starts tomorrow. We'll go get some lunch, and then see what we can do to keep you busy till Uncle Bill gets home."

"Can I see Starblaze and Mapleleaf?" And there was a hint of the normal cheerful tones, "Please?"

"We're going out to the farm, so I think they'll be looking for you. Just…" The conversation had moved towards him, and out the front doors of the school. Jones's face had been a bit less miserable. Misery didn't suit him, Arthur mused.

"Can I help you, Arthur?" The secretary was looking at him with bemusement making her lips twitch at the corners. "Or did you just want to make more jewelry out of my paperclips?"

Arthur blinked in horror as he realized that he'd chained together nearly all of the little metal paperclips into a necklace while he was eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Er, no, I just—"

"It's all right, Arthur. I can see you were concerned for our little clown. He doesn't usually go this far— I'm surprised."

"I don't think he threw it." Arthur offered, "And he seems to know what the limits are, even if he does push them."

"You heard what his punishment is. I think the little room off the library gets a bit stuffy at times. It's certainly isolated— especially when the librarian goes to lunch from eleven to noon." A conspiratorial smile. "Maybe someone could talk to him, and influence him. Or even figure out why he's acting out. He won't talk to any of us."

"I might have a free period at that time," Arthur admitted, curiosity getting the better of him. "I usually study in the library, or do the finances for the student council."

"Hmm," The secretary tilted her head, looking up at him. "It's quite befitting the president to be concerned about the entire student body, and not just his class. Do you need a pass to get to your next one, by the way?"

Arthur shook his head, and took the hint, heading directly towards his next class. There'd be time to look at the budget later.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate them more than you could know.

* * *

The next day found Arthur hesitating at the door of the little room where Alfred was being kept. The librarian had just slipped out, leaving the library in the capable hands of her aides— who were off trying to find art books with naked statues.

Alfred, Arthur noted, looking through the venetian blinds (kept open so that the staff could be sure that their delinquent was inside), had books open, and papers everywhere, but the boy himself had his head down, face buried in his arms.

Arthur wondered if he was sleeping.

From the lack of response at the opening and closing of the door, it appeared as though the younger boy was indeed napping, and had barely begun the assignments that had been given to him.

Arthur frowned at the empty worksheets from the math class that had gotten Alfred suspended. The only thing on them was Alfred's name and a bunch of numbers next to each example. The handwriting for both the name and the numbers appeared as though it had been the work of a five year old. The stack next to the math was something Arthur recognized as being from the remedial English class— also with the same scrawled print of Alfred's name.

"What?" Arthur said aloud before he could stop himself. "What is this?"

"You're not a teacher—" Alfred's sleepy voice said, and suddenly the paper was snatched from his hands. With a much more awake cry of, "Wait— no— don't look at that."

"I'm not a teacher, no, but you shouldn't let your siblings write on your homework like that—" Arthur scowled, "Really, you should be doing your own—"

"I don't have any. Don't make fun of me." Alfred was not meeting his eyes now, paper crinkling in his hand. "You don't have to make fun of me. I'm stupid, I get it."

"I'm not making fun of—" Oh. The little snips of conversation that he'd overheard came to Arthur's mind. Alfred was an only child. "You wrote that."

"Yeah." Alfred's face was red and white and it looked as though he were going to cry again. "I wrote it. I know it's not right, but I'm trying, really I am. I'm just too dumb to do anything right."

"Are you?" Arthur said, trying to not let the twinge of guilt at the outright shame and self loathing apparent on the other boy's face. "Or are you just lazy?"

Yes, that was a flinch, and the tiny moment of time that Alfred had met Arthur's eyes was gone. The sky blue eyes were filled with tears— Alfred was only two years younger than Arthur, but apparently had the propensity for bursting into tears of someone ten years younger.

"I-I- I tried. The only thing that I can do right is take care of the horses, and sometimes I don't even do that right. Everyone else is a frigging genius, and I'm just dumb."

The number of times that Alfred had called himself dumb in the past five minutes made Arthur just sigh, and look down at the paper closest to him.

This one had marks on it from their teacher. A bright red 'F' and a note to Alfred, telling him to at least show his work— the last quiz from two days ago, Arthur remembered the difficulty he'd had with the problems, and that last one had been rather complex.

"How long have you been having trouble with maths?" Arthur asked, slipping out of the loop of his messenger bag, and digging out his own quiz. He'd only received a 'B', however he'd gotten a bit of credit for the amount of work he'd shown for each— and he had corrections. "Did you even start to take notes?"

Alfred remained silent, and Arthur almost wondered if he'd fallen asleep again— except for the occasional hitch in his breathing that told the student council president that the other boy was upset, but trying not to show it.

"Are you passing any of these classes, Jones?"

"No," the answer was tiny, "Just art and shop."

"Haven't you ever asked for help in anything else?" Arthur sat down, comparing answers on their quizzes. "Asked someone to explain what you didn't understand?"

"I-I don't understand any of it." The confession came hastily, and when Arthur looked up, Alfred was studiously looking at the table, hands clenched around nothing. "They keep telling me I need to go read the book, but the book makes my head hurt, and the words are all swimmy, and I just can't figure it out because I'm too dumb to read."

"If you were too dumb to read, they wouldn't have let you out of first year, Alfred." Arthur shuffled to the next paper, "Maybe you need glasses?"

"You think that would help?" The answer was almost too eager. "Maybe I can get Mattie to take me today, before we go take care of the horses."

"It wouldn't hurt to check." Arthur glanced over the English homework with a wince of distaste. "And perhaps a tutor to help you catch up with some of this classwork."

"I— we can't really afford a tutor. Dad's getting Mattie to teach me guitar in exchange for me helping with the horses because we can't afford lessons—"

"I don't require payment— it's part of my duty as president of the student council to make certain that everyone does their best." Well. Not really, it was just that the tearful face and depressed demeanor didn't suit Alfred. He should be smiling and happy. Arthur could afford a few hours here and there to help catch someone up, surely? "And if you're learning how to play an instrument, you are most certainly not an idiot. Don't cry now—"

And suddenly he couldn't speak, because Alfred had launched himself out of his own chair, and was hugging him while tears of what Arthur could only hope were happiness leaked all over his school uniform.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou—"

"Come now, it will be all right." Arthur awkwardly returned the embrace. "One would think no one had ever offered to help you before—"

"I-they—" Alfred stiffened suddenly. "I thought they were only trying to make fun of me."

"There are people who want to help you, you just have to open your eyes. No one dislikes you, or wants to poke fun— save, perhaps, whoever threw that paper in class. That person should be ashamed."

After calming Alfred, and getting him to promise to tell him what happened with the optometrist and make an organized list of his homework, Arthur snuck back out to the library, and on to his next class; even if the school secretary was for his talking to Alfred while he was suspended, he somehow doubted that the rest of the administrators would be.

Was it too much to hope, Arthur wondered, seeing Alfred being picked up by his older mirror twin, that the answer to the most disruptive boy in school would be so simple?


End file.
